


follow-up to "only if for a night"

by mishcollin



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Epilogue, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-04
Updated: 2013-07-04
Packaged: 2017-12-17 17:04:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/869908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mishcollin/pseuds/mishcollin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a follow-up to the fic "Only If For a Night."</p>
            </blockquote>





	follow-up to "only if for a night"

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I originally didn't have any plans to write this but I got a lot of requests so I wrote how I imagined an epilogue would be. I wrote it a while ago but debated against posting it, and then reread it and decided, "What the hell?" So I hope you enjoy. :')

            Cas has been acting…weird lately.

            It’s nothing huge that’s changed, yet at the same time, Dean thinks, it is. Cas won’t meet his eyes anymore, for one, which has never exactly been a qualm of his. He avoids Dean like he’s got some kind of disease, actually—every time Dean walks in the room, Cas will excuse himself to go to the restroom or get a glass of water and then won’t come back. Furthermore, Dean’s a physical guy with unabashedly physical relationships, sex or otherwise. Cas has always known this and accepted it without so much as a questioning glance; the casual physicality has always been an unspoken part of their relationship. So it doesn’t make sense that all of a sudden Cas is shying away from Dean’s claps on the backs or hands on the shoulder—or any sort of proximity, for that matter.

            Dean’s not an idiot. He can connect dots. Cas had started acting like some kind of spooked animal almost directly after what he mentally calls the “djinncident.” And it’s not like Dean doesn’t know what that’s like; for a few days after the djinn’s dream for him, he’d been shaky, skittish, sometimes confused when certain details of reality didn’t match up. But it’s been three weeks and Cas is still acting like Dean’s got the plague or something.

            “I don’t get it,” Dean says after Cas has fled the room for something like the fifth time that day. “I mean, you see it, right?”

            “Yeah, Dean, I see it,” Sam replies, taking a pull on his beer and sifting through the newspaper to find the crossword. “I think you’re overanalyzing it, though. Give him a little time. He went through a hell of a trauma.”

            “I’m not _overanalyzing_ it, Sam. He’s straight up avoiding me. He’s not avoiding _you_ ,” Dean adds, a little bit mutinously, and Sam replies with a slightly mischievous smile, “Don’t sound too jealous, Dean.”

            “Something else is going on,” Dean says, purposefully avoiding Sam’s jab. “Something he’s not telling us. Something the djinn made him see.”

            Sam glances up at him a bit reproachfully, looking all the more pretentious with his poised pen and new reading glasses and stupid crossword. “And how is that your business? If he hasn’t talked to you already about it, he probably doesn’t want to, so don’t make him uncomfortable.”

            “You’re making it sound like I’m some gossipy neighbor,” Dean says irritably. “It’s not like I’m trying to— _sate_ my curiosity or something—” Sam raises his eyebrows at the uncharacteristic word choice. “—I’m just worried about the guy.” And Cas, as usual, is being an asshole about Dean’s concern.

            “Well,” Sam says, clicking his teeth against the pen thoughtfully, “you could _try_ talking to him about it. But don’t make him talk about anything he doesn’t want to talk about.”

            “Yeah, we’ll see,” Dean mutters, heading determinedly toward Cas’ room, and Sam sighs after him.

            “Cas?” Dean asks, rapping his knuckles on the door once he reaches the end of the hallway. “Come on, open up.”

            No answer. Dean grinds his teeth, waits a patient moment, then tries again.

            “Cas, come on, I just want to talk, alright?” He knocks more insistently until it’s a rapid-fire of his knuckles on the wood. “Cas? Caaaaaas—”

            Cas throws open the door and eyes Dean almost belligerently. “Yes, Dean. What do you want?”

            “May I come in?” Dean asks with mock-insult, and Cas sighs and cracks the door wider so Dean can pass through. It doesn’t escape Dean’s notice that Cas jumps a bit when Dean’s arm brushes his, like he’s received some sort of electric shock.

            Cas hangs in the doorway as Dean heads to the bed, his movements uneasy and shifting, like he’s uncertain about how to hold himself. After a moment of silence, he asks with almost unnatural impassivity, “What did you want to talk about?”

            Dean takes a seat on Cas’ rumpled mattress and pats the spot next to him. “Sit down a sec, Cas.”

            Cas hesitates, sliding the flat of his thumb against the length of his pointer finger. It’s a strange human habit that he’s picked up recently that Dean’s come to recognize as a symptom of nervousness, even if Cas’ expression is ambivalent and almost cold as he (reluctantly) situates himself next to Dean.

            For the first time in days, Cas steadily holds his gaze as he waits for Dean to speak.

            Dean clears his throat self-consciously and shuffles his feet. Strange, how conversation with Cas still makes him nervous after however many years of knowing him, fighting beside him, fighting _with_ him. “So,” Dean begins, a bit awkwardly. “You’ve been acting a little weird lately. Sam’s noticed too, it’s not just me.”

            There’s not even a flicker of expression across Cas’ face; just the same blank mask, his eyes probing Dean’s in a way that makes him almost uncomfortable.

            “And I mean, I’ve been there with the djinn thing, you know? I know how it is. It’s weird for a little bit after. But Cas, man, it’s been _weeks_. And you’re still…off. Sam and I are getting worried, that’s all.”

            Cas’s eyes ghost away from his in a moment of weakness; the discomfort, the soft edge of nervousness, is back, evident in the way Cas twists his hands together and folds them in his lap.

            “I’m fine, Dean,” he says evenly. “I appreciate your and Sam’s concern, but you have nothing to be worried about.”

            “What did the djinn make you dream?” Dean asks, point-blank, because he knows that’s it.

            And Dean knows he’s hit the mark because Cas flinches, shifts, and looks everywhere but him, gaze darting around the room as if seeking some sort of safe haven.

            “Hey,” he says, forcing his voice to be softer and more consoling, like Sam does when he’s talking to trauma victims. “You can tell me, alright? I won’t laugh or judge you or anything. You…you realize you’re, like…” Dean clears his throat again, wishing that Cas would just _look_ at him, before he continues, “you’re like family, alright? You’re, um, one of my best friends, and I’m…uh, always here if you need to talk.” Dean winces at the direction the conversation is headed, but he knows it needs to be said, especially if it’ll make Cas stop tiptoeing around him.

            “I know it’s…difficult for you to discuss such matters,” Cas says carefully, and he _still_ won’t fucking look at Dean. “And I appreciate you coming in here to offer your support. But honestly, I’m _fine_ , Dean.”

            “You’re avoiding the question,” Dean says, remembering Sam’s advice and trying to keep his voice as non-coercive as possible. “Does all this weirdness lately have to do with what the djinn made you dream?”

            Cas sighs, the breath hitching when he exhales. He still won’t look at Dean, but he nods, almost imperceptibly.

            “All right,” Dean says with a small smile at the progress. “That’s what I thought.”

            Cas’ eyes shoot to him in a flash of panic; or that’s what it looks like, at least. “You…thought?”

            “I figured it had something to do with whatever roofies the djinn gave you,” Dean clarifies. “Do you want to talk about it?”

            “No,” Cas says immediately, harshly, and Dean flinches a bit at that, because ouch. Here’s Dean, offering to actually _talk_ about problems, Cas’ problems, and being shut down is like a physical clench in his chest, a twist of rejection and embarrassment.

            Cas senses instantly he’s hurt Dean’s feelings and as Dean gets up to leave, Cas places a stilling hand on Dean’s wrist, feather-light and almost pleading. “I’m sorry, Dean. It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just…I _can’t_.”

            Dean frowns as Cas’ fingers tighten a bit on his wrist (the first contact Cas has initiated in weeks, Dean will note), and asks, “Why can’t you?”

            Cas takes back his hand and fiddles with the hem of his shirt. “I just can’t. You wouldn’t understand.”

            “I probably would, Cas.”

            “No, you wouldn’t.” Cas’ voice is quieter, almost inaudible, when he adds, “And it would ruin everything.”

            Dean blinks for a moment, staring in surprise at the crown of Cas’ ducked head, and says, “Cas, there’s nothing you could possibly say to me that could make me hate you, or disown you, or anything like that. Hell, you weren’t even under your own control. The djinn just fucked around in your subconscious.”

            “That’s the problem,” Cas says, almost wretchedly as he meets Dean’s gaze again, and something in Dean freezes and chokes up a bit at the pure sadness and desperation there, such that he sits next to Cas again and claps a bracing hand on his shoulder.

            “You’ve read Chuck’s books, right?” Dean asks, studying Cas’ profile in earnest. “You _know_ what I dreamed. Mom, Sammy, Jess, happy family, apple-pie lifestyle, the whole touchy-feely works. It’s depressing as shit, and yeah, maybe a little embarrassing. Yours can’t be much worse than mine.”

            “At least you don’t have anything to be ashamed of,” Cas says, so bitterly that Dean’s hand slips off his shoulder.

            “What’ve you got to be ashamed of?” Dean asks, utterly perplexed. “You didn’t have any control over it, alright? It was the djinn.”

            Okay, he’d been lying before when he told Sam he wasn’t curious. Dean’s definitely concerned about Cas acting like some sort of Boo Radley on caffeine, but yeah, he’s _definitely_ curious about what’s rattling around in his friend’s subconscious. What happiness could Cas _possibly_ be embarrassed by?

            “Was it a girl?” Dean asks with a flash of intuition. “A girl that you were in love with?”

            Cas shifts and swallows and doesn’t answer, and Dean knows he’s pegged it.

            “Cas,” he says with a long sigh, and he feels a fond smile creeping its way onto his face. “That’s nothing to be ashamed of, alright? I had a girl in my dream too. It’s something all humans are looking for, y’know? Love, sex, the works.” He narrows his eyes for a moment before he says, “I think people need to be needed.”

            “That was uncharacteristically profound of you,” Cas says in a flat, sarcastic voice, and Dean grins, pleased to have a bit of the old Cas back.

            “That’s it, isn’t it?” Dean teases, bumping into Cas’ side. “You got a little bedroom action, didn’t you?”

            Cas never blushed as an angel, but a slow flush works its way up Cas’ neck now, mottles of pink marking the ridges of his cheekbones, and the poor guy looks so uncomfortable that Dean almost apologizes and lays off before Cas says, in a quiet voice, “It wasn’t a girl.”

            Dean frowns, then his eyes widen a bit as he considers the connotations of that statement.

Oh _. Oh._

 “Was it…a guy?” Oh God, he’d never even considered the thought that Cas could be _gay_. He stumbles through his shock and discomfort to add a futile, “Y’know, Sam and me, we’re _totally_ okay with that kind of, um, _thing,_ if it’s your thing—”

            “It wasn’t some random guy or girl,” Cas snaps. “It wasn’t anything like that, okay? Except that…” Dean wonders if it’s his imagination that Cas hunches in a bit on himself. “Except that it was. It _was_ like that.”

            Dean stares at Cas for a long three seconds before he shakes his head and admits, “You totally lost me there, buddy. It wasn’t a romance thing but it was?”

            “It wasn’t a _random_ romance thing,” Cas amends, and his hands, to Dean’s alarm, are shaking.

            “The pieces aren’t adding up here, Cas. Someone you _know_ then? Meg, or, like, somebody upstairs—”

            “No, Dean,” Cas says, sucking in a deep breath and seeming to collect his courage. “It was you.”

            Dean draws a blank for a good few minutes while he stares at Cas, struggling to compute. He tries for a laugh, but it cracks out of his throat as something hollow and weak. “Me? I—I don’t understand. What do you mean, me? I was there?”

            Cas tries to bolt, essentially, but Dean grabs his arm and says, more sharply, “ _Cas,_ hey, we’re not done here! What the fuck do you mean it was _me_?” Something hot like disbelief or denial or horror is building behind his eyes, because there’s no way in fuck Cas can mean what he thinks he means, what he’s _hoping_ he doesn’t mean—

            Cas is definitely freaking out now, looking everywhere, anywhere but Dean. There’s something about Cas’ reactions that’s twice as unsettling, because when has Dean _ever_ seen Cas react this way to anything? Which grants the situation a sort of undeniability, an element of truth that Dean can’t handle.

            “ _Cas!_ ” Dean demands, in a near panic, “look at me!”

            Cas does look at him, and his eyes are wild and frantic in a way that shocks Dean.

            “What do you mean it was _me_?” Dean tries again.

            Cas huffs out a short, impatient breath, fixing his gaze with Dean’s so fiercely that there’s no way in hell Dean can even try to look away. “It was _you,_ Dean, you and me, together, romantically. That was it, that was my dream.” Cas’ lip curls up, his eyes hard as shards of ice. “You got it out of me. Are you happy now?”

            “I don’t understand,” Dean says, scrambling to gain his footing because oh my God. “What do you mean—we were—”

            “What isn’t there to understand?” Cas asks, hot and exasperated.

            “I dunno, the whole fucking thing?” Dean shouts, his panic leveling to record-level high because _what the fuck, what the fuck—does he want, I mean, does he think that I’m—why would he—I didn’t even—_ “What, you mean like we were _dating,_ or…?”

            “Isn’t that what ‘romantically’ implies?” Cas asks, and stands unsteadily to go, wiping his palms on his frayed jeans.

            “Cas, would you wait for one _fucking_ second,” Dean bites out, shooting up to grab Cas’ arm and yank him back. “We haven’t even—you’re not leaving until we at least talk about this!”

            “What is there to talk about?” Cas asks, ripping his arm away from Dean’s grasp like it burns.

            “Like, _everything?_ How long have you—” Dean tries, then takes a deep, shuddering breath and begins again, “I think you might be a little bit confused—”

            “I’m not _confused_ ,” Cas says, defensiveness sparking his temper. “I know exactly how I feel!”

            “Cas,” Dean says with a shocked, almost hysterical laugh, “there’s no way you can—”

            “Be in love with you?” Cas finishes, much more quietly, and this shuts Dean down completely. His feet are glued to the floor, his mouth hanging open, his arms empty hoses at his sides.

            No. No, no, no. _No._

“I’m leaving,” Dean says abruptly, whirling and heading straight for the door.

            “Dean, wait,” Cas says after him, and he tries to grab Dean’s arm but Dean yanks away.

            “No, what the _fuck,_ Cas?” Dean says, and turns in time to see Cas’ eyes deaden and his shoulders slump. “You’re…you must still be delusional from the djinn poison, because there’s no way in fuck—”

            “Fuck you, Dean,” Cas says, and Dean blinks in shock at the bite in his voice as Cas straightens and fixes him with a glare acidic enough to melt rock. “I know exactly how I feel, and I knew exactly how you’d respond, which is why I refrained from telling you. And I knew it would ruin everything. But you wouldn’t stop digging, would you? You kept needling and needling and now you know and you’re going to run out like you run out on every instance in your life when someone expresses affection for you. So go ahead and _leave,_ Dean.”

            “Don’t you think _I_ have the right to be pissed off?” Dean shoots back, his knuckles whitening over his hold on the doorknob. “You’ve got this huge thing for me and you didn’t even bother to fucking tell me!” Jesus, he needs a drink. _Jesus._ “What the _hell_ is wrong with you, Cas!”

“It’s not a thing,” Cas says with such a wounded crook of his eyebrows that something in Dean’s chest cracks. “It’s not some _thing_ , like a chemical fixation just because you’re the only person around besides Sam. I’m—”

            “Don’t say it,” Dean whispers, “don’t you dare say it again. You don’t mean it, you can’t mean it.”

            Cas’ eyes are huge, glassy, undoubtedly sincere in a way that makes Dean’s whole being wilt with dread. “I do mean it, Dean.”

            Dean can’t help it. He bails.

            “What happened?” Sam asks in alarm when Dean whips past him. “What—where the hell are you going?”

            “To get a drink,” Dean manages to choke out, and slams the bunker door behind him.

\---

            Sam stares wide-eyed after Dean, the sound of the slamming door echoing hollowly in the expansive silence of the bunker.

            Sam tries to turn his attention back to his crossword, but the little blocks seem to swim together under his lack of focus.

            _Don’t get involved, Sam. Do_  not _get involved._

Sam sighs and drops his pen, standing and heading toward Cas’ room at the very end of the hallway.

            The door is left slightly ajar, so he pokes his head in with a soft, “Cas?”

            Cas is kneeling on the floor with a suitcase splayed open, and he’s meticulously laying old shirts inside it, cramming the extra spaces with random books and CD’s.

            “What are you doing?” Sam asks in alarm. He pushes the door open a bit more brusquely so he can take in the full state of the room, the disarray of Cas’ (and Dean’s old) clothes and books. “Cas, _what are you doing?_ ”

            Cas doesn’t answer him—not out of spite, Sam thinks, but more weariness. There’s an aching kind of bend to his shoulders that wasn’t there previously, and he won’t look up to meet Sam’s gaze.

            “Cas,” Sam says in a soft, shocked voice, “are you _leaving_?”

            “Yes, Sam,” Cas replies, and Sam thinks it’s taking him a considerable amount of willpower to keep his voice even. “I’m sorry.”

            “You can’t leave,” Sam protests. “You don’t have anywhere to go, and…and…”

            Cas doesn’t seem to wait for Sam’s completion of the sentence, but he finishes it anyway with a quiet, “You’re family now, Cas. You can’t leave us.” He amends, “You can’t leave Dean. He’ll be heartbroken.”

            Cas stiffens a bit and answers, more blandly, “I don’t think Dean cares what I do or don’t do.”

            “So you had a fight,” Sam says, trying valiantly to keep the desperation from creeping into his voice. “So what? You and Dean fight all the time. You guys will come through it, you always do. You don’t need to make impetuous decisions just because Dean’s pissed off at you for a probably stupid reason.”

            “This isn’t something I can fix, Sam,” Cas says with a quiet ache in his voice. He’s sitting back on his heels in his too-big plaid shirt, his head bowed and his hands folded in his lap, and he looks for a strange, heartbreaking moment like a child. Sam feels a surge of odd protectiveness; no way can he let a newly human Cas go out there on his own.

            “You _always_ fix—”

            “Not this time,” Cas interrupts, his gaze cutting to Sam’s sharply. “Not this time. I’ve wrecked it too thoroughly this time and it’s best for all of us if I go. I’ll leave in the morning.”

            An argument struggles up Sam’s throat, but he swallows it down with a reluctant sigh. Cas is an adult, and one considerably older than Sam; he can make his own decisions. Sam knows that he’s got no right to impede him for the sake of his brother’s feelings. But…he has to at least try. For Dean’s sake. “Okay, Cas,” he begins. “If that’s what you think is best, I won’t stop you, alright? Just…make sure you know what you’re doing.”

            Cas nods, seeming appreciative of Sam’s lack of resistance.

            “To Dean, too,” Sam says before he can stop himself. “I don’t mean to play the guilt card, but think for a second what this will do to Dean. What you’re leaving behind you. I mean…” Sam hesitates, knows he’s taking a huge leap here, one that Dean won’t be pleased with, and continues, “Cas, you weren’t here the last time.”

            Cas glances up at him with confusion written in the lines of his creased brow.

            “You weren’t here the last time you left, after the Leviathans,” Sam clarifies. “Dean was a fucking _wreck._ He almost went off the deep end; he wasn’t sleeping, he was drinking more than he _ever_ did. Hell, he wasn’t even sleeping around, which is his usual method of operation for coping with shit. It was like he was _waiting_ for you to come back. So if you leave, I just want you to keep in mind what you’ll be doing to my brother.”

            “I’m doing this for Dean,” Cas says testily, although Sam notices he looks visibly affected by his words, “I’m doing this _because_ of Dean. It’s best for both of us—for all of us.”

            Sam nods, deciding it wise not to pry. Dean will probably come home wasted and spill it all anyway in a babble of self-loathing and deep-seated abandonment issues that always seem to choke Sam up no matter how many times Dean gets spectacularly drunk.

            “I’ll miss you, Cas,” Sam says. “We both will.” He sighs internally as he imagines Dean’s reaction to Cas’ departure, the pieces he’ll have left to pick up again. But if Cas thinks it’s for the best… _well, he’s family_ , Sam thinks, _I’ve gotta trust him._

            Cas bobs his head once. “I’ll miss you too, Sam. But _trust_ me when I say this is the best option.”

            Sam nods, deflated. “Okay. Um, just get some rest for the road tomorrow, all right? Yell down the hall if you need anything.”

            Cas still won’t look at Sam but he nods gratefully and continues leafing through his borrowed shirts.

            _Wow,_ Sam thinks as he makes his way back down the hall. What the fuck could’ve happened to make Cas so desolate and Dean so…worked up? He figures, somewhat grimly, that he’ll find out one way or another.

\---

Dean stumbles home drunker than he’s been for years four hours after leaving. He fumbles a few times with the keys to the bunker, cursing and dropping them twice before letting himself in with a soft hiccup in lieu of a greeting.

            Sam’s draped across the couch fast asleep, but he stirs when he hears Dean comes in and jerks up at the sight of him, eyes wide and bleary.

            “Heya, Sammy,” Dean says, jumping a bit at how loud his voice sounds in the echo of the bunker.

            “Dean,” Sam says in surprise and concern. “I thought you’d, er, gotten a motel room for the night. I tried to wait up, in case you came home—” Dean stumbles in place, and Sam's eyes sharpen and he demands, “Did you _drive_ like that?”

            “Yup,” Dean says, bracing himself against the front door to keep from toppling over.

            Sam sits up straighter, the newspaper slipping from his chest, and he goes into, “Are you a fucking _idiot,_ Dean? Do you have a death wish? You can barely even see straight, let alone drive a fucking car! What were you _thinking_?”

            “Whatever, Sam, I’m alive, alright?” He squints a bit painfully—all the lights seem so bright in here, somehow—and asks, “Where’s Cas?”

            Sam shifts uncomfortably and clears his throat, dropping his eyes. “He’s um, in his room. Are you sure you want to talk to him now? You’re kind of…”

            “We need to talk,” Dean says decisively with another hiccup. “We need to talk about this shit that he’s confused about.”

            “What shit he’s confused about?” Sam asks.

            Dean laughs and lowers his voice and says in a loud, incredulous whisper, “The dude thinks he’s in love with me. Isn’t that a fucking joke?”

            Sam’s eyes go wide and Dean has the benefit of seeing his mouth pop open.

            “I know, right?”

            “Are you fucking kidding me, Dean?” Sam says instead, which isn’t what Dean expects. “He told you that and you _left_ him there? Who the hell even are you?”

            Dean frowns, confused and irritated as to why he’s being lectured. “You’re not siding with him, are you? You realize he’s fucking delusional, right? The djinn’s stuff just messed with him, that’s all.”

            Sam is closing his eyes and shaking his head and saying, “Oh my God, Dean. I can’t even believe you.”

            “Fine,” Dean snaps. “Take his side, see if I care.” And he stomps off, despite Sam’s hissed, “ _Dean!_ ” after him.

            Dean uses the wall to brace himself as he heads with intent toward Cas’ room.

            “Cas,” he begins as he nudges open the door, but goes stock-still in the doorway, something resembling ice-cold sobriety kicking into him despite the way the room’s still kind of spinning. Cas is kneeling over a suitcase and the room is basically bare of his belongings, and he goes rigid at Dean’s entry and stares like a deer-in-headlights. Dean stares back, trying to comprehend as Cas jumps up and says, “Dean. I wasn’t expecting you home tonight.”

            “Are you leaving?” Dean whispers, something strange and hot boiling up in his throat. Cas hears the implicit _me_ at the end of the inquiry and glances away, plumbing a hand through his hair uncertainly and leaving it sticking up at odd angles.

            “Dean,” Cas says, his voice low, “please try to understand—”

            “You’re a fuckin’ coward,” Dean says, the alcohol emboldening him; Cas flinches at the insult. “You’re fucking running off with your tail between your legs. Where the fuck are you even gonna go, Cas?”

            Cas straightens and faces Dean head-on with his fists clenched at his sides. “I’ll go somewhere else besides here, Dean. I’m leaving because I can’t stand knowing that I’ve ruined this relationship again, after so many times.” His chest is heaving, his hands knotting and unknotting and his shoulders stiff. It’s not an angry stance, but a defensive one.

            Alcohol always makes Dean sort of maudlin, so he’s disgusted if not unsurprised when the next words out of his mouth are, “Don’t leave.”

            Cas cocks his jaw in reaction to this but doesn’t say anything.

            Dean takes a pitching step forward and says, brokenly, “Don’t leave me again, Cas. We can fix this.”

            “Dean, you’re drunk,” Cas says quietly, not meeting his eyes. “You don’t mean anything you’re saying. When you’re sober you won’t want me around.”

            “Yeah, I will, even if I act like a dick about it,” Dean says. “Don’t leave me like everyone else does, Cas. I can’t lose you too. We…we can fix this.”

            “Don’t you get it?” Cas says sadly. “There’s nothing to _fix._ This won’t go away, I can’t just _will_ it to leave. And I know how uncomfortable it makes you. So I’ll apologize for leaving, Dean, but I won’t apologize for loving you.”

            Dean’s mind rejects this and he finds himself asking, “What is it you want from me, Cas?”

            Cas’s eyes widen fractionally, almost hurt. “I don’t expect anything from you, Dean.”

            “No, what do you _want_ from me?” Dean asks, stepping forward so that he and Cas are just inches apart. “Is it…sex? Is that what you want?” Dean can understand that; a sexual relationship is easy, no thought, no strings. And Cas is, y’know, _human_ now, with human needs. Dean can get that.

            “ _No_ ,” Cas answers, horrified. “How could you even think that of me? That I would objectify you in that way?”

            “Then I don’t get it,” Dean says, emotions rocking him about every which way and making his voice crackle. He feels like he’s lost in some huge fucking ocean that he can’t swim his way out of. “What do you want then?”

            “You’re so damaged,” Cas whispers, but his voice isn’t accusatory or disgusted, just plain sad. His big blue eyes are mournful too as he gazes up at Dean. “How could you even think so lowly of yourself?”

            “What do you mean by that?” Dean asks, ignoring the way his pulse picks up lightning-quick as he takes a step closer. Cas, as though monitoring the space between them, takes a measured step backward, out of Dean’s reach.

            “You don’t think you deserve to be saved,” Cas says, tilting his head. There’s no bewilderment or surprise there, as there once had been, just resigned, aching sadness. “You can’t possibly see why someone could love you because you don’t think you’re worthy of it. And that breaks my heart, Dean.”

            “You can see where I’m having trouble wrapping my head around this, right?” Dean says, his voice choked off, and goddammit, he fucking hates alcohol and all its stupid side-effects. “How, Cas? You’re a fucking angel. I mean, allies with me is one thing, friends is another, but _in love_ with me? You’re outta your fucking head.”

            “Dean Winchester,” Cas says in a growling voice, and he’s not a celestial being, not anymore, but damn if it doesn’t sound like it. He takes an aggressive step forward, gripping either of Dean’s biceps and looking him straight in the eye. “Listen to me right now. You are the best man I’ve ever known and the most worthy of love even if you don’t believe it. You’re loving, loyal, courageous, and _good._ You deserve to be loved, maybe not by me, but that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you from the beginning.” Cas’ voice drops off into an angry huff. “Dammit, Dean, you drive me crazy. I love you, I’ve always loved you and I will always love you, and I might leave or die but that’s not _ever_ going to cha—”

            Whatever his rant was working up to is muffled and swallowed by Dean suddenly stepping forward, cobra-quick, and sealing his mouth to Cas’. Cas goes utterly still, his lips pliant and frozen, presumably in shock, and Dean doesn’t know why he fucking did it, why he’s fucking doing it, because he thought he liked women (like??) and this is _Cas,_ as in Castiel his best friend and former angel, but _fuck,_ the thought of Cas leaving is a physical clench in Dean’s chest, a resistance to the thought so fierce that he pushes Cas into the nearest wall and fucking goes to town because he’s drunk and Cas is leaving and _fuck_ it.

            “ _Dean,_ ” Cas says with a choked gasp as they come up for air and Dean moves to nip Cas’ earlobe. “ _Nngh—_ what are we doing—this is a _mistake_ , _ah_ —”

            “Fuck you, Cas,” Dean says between shared breaths. “You’re not leaving, alright?” He takes Cas’ bottom lip between his teeth and tugs, almost punitively. Cas bucks and whimpers, and their teeth clash with a resounding _click_ in Dean’s skull as Cas struggles for dominance. For a few minutes they war with each other, a glide of tongue and teeth and soft, choked noises, before they even out and settle into a cadenced, gentle rhythm of back and forth, like a tide teething against a shore, a soft, unspoken reciprocity of movement. Dean doesn’t even have to think about it; it doesn’t even register that it’s _Cas,_ that it’s a guy (other than the papery rasp of stubble and the cloying spice of aftershave and leather), or anything like that. It's just... _right._ Like two pieces are finally slotting into place.

            “We should stop,” Cas gasps after a good five minutes of this, and Dean pulls back reluctantly to see Cas bite down on his swollen lip and gaze up at Dean in something like fear. “You’re not even going to remember this in the morning, and if you do, you’ll hate me.”

            “I could never hate you, Cas,” Dean murmurs, bumping his nose softly against Cas’, and Cas retreats further back into the wall, holding himself tightly.

            “Dean,” Cas says in a strangled whisper. “This could ruin _everything._ You realize that, right?”

            “Cas, you’re fucking kidding me, right?” Dean asks, pulling back. “We survived the goddamned apocalypse, hell, heaven, purgatory, and you think we can’t make it through a gay crisis?”

            “I’m not the one having the crisis,” Cas says with an arched eyebrow.

            Dean shrugs. “It’s fine. Really, it's all...fine.”

            “Because you're _drunk,_ ” Cas says in exasperation. "Of course everything seems fine. So what happens in the morning?" 

            “Yeah, I’ll definitely probably freak out a bit,” Dean says. “Okay, a lot, okay? I’m not _gay,_ I like boobs and—” And yeah, okay, maybe a few dudes. Maybe he sometimes thought about guys, thought about _Cas,_ but it didn't mean anything, right? His dad. His dad would  _kill_ him if he knew.

            “Dean, trust me, I know,” Cas says in a strained voice. “I actually thought you’d be with a girl tonight instead of coming home.”

            Dean sighs and scrubs a quick hand through his hair, which is already fucked to hell from Cas plowing his fingers through it. “I tried. Hot Asian chick, took her out to the Impala. She started, y’know, going down on me, but all that I could think about was, like…it didn’t _mean_ anything, you know? I didn’t mean a fucking thing to her, I don’t even know her first name. And I kind of freaked out, I dunno. I like couldn’t get it up. So I drank a lot and it made it better.”

            “That’s healthy,” Cas says mildly.

            Dean laughs, dark and low. “Nothing I do is healthy, Cas. Does our relationship look _healthy_ to you?”

            Cas shakes his head and tips his head against the wall, leaving the ridged column of his throat exposed, and he jumps when Dean sucks a soft hickey there.

            “Dean,” Cas asks, his voice soft and slightly distorted with his panting breath as Dean glides lower, to his collarbone. “Have you ever…been with a man before?”

            Dean freezes up at that; there’s a _wall_ in his head between him and memories he doesn’t want, that he never wanted, and the thought of breaching that divide terrifies him. But a strange, perverse part of him _wants_ to talk about it; he never could with Dad or Sam. _Especially_ not Sam, he thinks with a shudder.

            He trusts Cas. In a way he hasn’t trusted anyone else besides his brother, despite the number of times that Cas has betrayed him, lied to him, _left_ him.

            “I mean,” Dean says, straightening and not looking Cas in the eye. “Money was tight when Dad was away, you know? I had to look after Sammy. So I did what I could.”

            “ _Dean,_ ” Cas whispers, heartbroken or horrified or maybe both.

            “I mean,” Dean continues nervously, avoiding Cas’ gaze, “a few blowjobs or whatever didn’t mean a thing if Sam got to eat.” He doesn’t mention the times when things had gone further than that, against Dean’s will—he squeezes his eyes shut. He _can’t_ think about that.

            “Oh my God, Dean,” Cas says, and it’s the first time he’s ever heard Cas take the Lord’s name in vain. Cas pulls Dean toward him and presses a chaste kiss to his temple—it’s nothing romantic, more of a consolation. “You didn’t deserve that, even on Sam’s behalf.”

            “Sam doesn’t even know,” Dean whispers against the bridge of Cas’ shoulder. “And if you tell him I’ll fucking kill you, alright? He doesn’t need another thing to feel guilty about. It’s in the past, anyway.”

            “Doesn’t mean it doesn’t still hurt,” Cas says. “Or affect how you think of yourself.”

            Dean shrugs and changes topics swiftly. “So what did we do in your dream then?”

            Cas purses his lips in reproach at the subject switch, but Dean continues to stare at him in earnest entreaty of an answer, so eventually Cas’ eyes slide away from his in a moment of uncharacteristic shyness. “We didn’t do anything, um…sexual or anything like that.”

            Dean raises his eyebrows in surprise. He imagines Cas had something to do with that, because that doesn’t seem very characteristic of himself in any universe.

            “We just, kind of…were together. I don’t know. A lot of the relationship felt the same as it always had, only…happier.” He meets Dean’s eyes, and there’s still something deep and inhuman in that gaze, something old and ancient and undeniably kind. “It was much happier.”

            “What happened?” Dean murmurs, pressing a kiss to the bolt of Cas’ jaw. This is...new, kissing Cas. Somehow familiar, a little bit strange, but...good, Dean thinks.

            “It was normal. We woke up together, you made breakfast, we watched _Lord of the Rings._ ”

            “ _That_ was your dream?” Dean asks with a laugh. “Damn.”

            “Seems ridiculous, doesn’t it,” Cas murmurs. “But I knew…I knew the whole time it couldn’t be real.”

            “Because I’d never be that fucking domestic.”

            “Well,” Cas says with a soft, sad laugh.

            “Yeah, well, you’re right,” Dean replies. “I won’t ever be that guy who wakes up with you every morning and cooks you eggs and watches _Lifetime_ television. I’m always gonna be on the road, dodging bullets, and for days at a time I probably won’t even talk to you because you’ve pissed me off. Or I’ll get killed by something somewhere down the road. Sometimes I’ll make you a shitty pizza, or marathon _Star Trek_ with you, but I’m never gonna be _that guy,_ Cas, the one everyone dreams about waking up next to every morning, alright? That’s not me.” He lowers his eyes to the ground and shuffles his feet, lining his toes up against Cas’. “This is all I have to offer.”

            “That’s all I want,” Cas says with such sincerity that Dean’s head shoots up again. “You think I want some domestic carbon-copy if I can have you, the real you, instead?” He tips his head admonishingly and frowns. “Dean. Come on now.”

            “How long?” Dean whispers. “How long have you…you know.” Strangely enough, he can slowly feel the alcohol’s effects ebbing as the minutes pass, grounding him a little more in reality every passing minute, yet here he is still. Having the same conversation, openly and without, well, freaking out. It’s kind of an amazing thing in its own right.

            “I don’t know,” Cas replies, chewing down absently on his lip again. “I can’t say for sure. Sometimes I think it was the moment I found you in hell; I just didn’t realize it.”

            “Holy shit,” Dean says. “That’s…a lot to take in, Cas.”

            “Yes, I know.”

            “Where are we supposed to go from here?”

            Cas hums in contemplation. “Well…”

            “Well what?”

            “We could start simple,” Cas says cautiously, gently pushing Dean’s hands away. “We could, you know, just share a bed.”

            Dean sways a bit and nods, feeling a sudden blow of exhaustion at the word “bed.” It’s been a long-ass night. A long-ass year.

            “Few rules,” Dean says imperiously, and the slight slur in his words makes Cas roll his eyes. “No cuddling. No groping. Stay to your side of the bed. Don’t kick. And don’t steal the covers.”

            “That all shouldn’t be a problem,” Cas says with a soft, slightly disbelieving smile, and he moves toward the bed.

            It takes them a while to get settled—Dean’s still kind of freaked out that not only is he sharing a bed with a guy who isn’t his brother, but _Cas,_ Castiel, ex-Angel of the Lord and best friend—in a considerably non-platonic way, but Cas is casual about it, sliding beneath the sheets and thumping his dark head on the pillow and closing his eyes.

            “Lay down, Dean,” he murmurs without opening his eyes, and Dean obeys, sliding down under the covers and staring a bit dazedly at Cas.

            “If I freak out in the morning, don’t be offended,” Dean whispers. “I just, I, um.”

            “I know, Dean,” Cas murmurs, lightly pushing his toe into Dean’s calf.

            “So does this mean you’re not leaving?”

            Cas gives a low, neutral noise in his chest, a throaty kind of hum, and says, “No. Unless you want me to.”

            Dean shakes his head and shifts a bit closer to Cas, so he can at least feel the shifting hush of his breath, can tap his fingers lightly against the edge of Cas’ pillowcase and trying to just _think._

“Go to sleep, Dean,” Cas says quietly,  “I’ll be here in the morning.”

            Dean nods, take a deep breath, closes his eyes. He dreams.


End file.
